


a snowfall kind of love

by synchronicities



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: College, Established Friendship, F/M, Implied Relationships, POV Alternating, Post-Canon, Vignette, is not a tag, this is honestly very fluffy and wholesome and just the first years in college adoring each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 12:51:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9182545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synchronicities/pseuds/synchronicities
Summary: "She’s no longer their manager, dutifully handing out towels and water bottles to tired players, just as he’s no longer their captain, barking out orders and doing drills, and there’s no team to run like a well-oiled machine anymore. But she’s still working across the table from him, her eyebrows furrowed, and he supposes some things stay the same."Tsukishima and Yachi at the same college.





	

**Author's Note:**

> my first haikyuu fic and it's 4.5k for a het rarepair WHO AM I
> 
> this is for my sister who has still not acknowledged this fic ungrateful child

Tsukishima continues to play volleyball in college.

If she had known this in her first year of high school Hitoka would have been surprised – the Tsukishima she knew then would surely have given it up in pursuit of bigger, broader things, with his mutterings of  _it’s just a club._  But when he texts her when he learns he’s accepted – a taciturn _they let me in_ with no context – she can’t think of anywhere he’d be happier. She hadn’t doubted his acceptance one bit – they would’ve been a fool to turn down the captain who got Karasuno to the National semifinals.

 _“I still can’t believe it_ ,” Shouyou says over the phone when she tells him as such. “ _He’s really, good, but – what if we go to Nationals and we have to face Tsukishima? I know we’d beat him, but man, that would suck_.”

“Don’t let Tobio know you said that,” she says, laughing as she washes the rice. That’s another thing that’s changed. Tobio early in freshman year would have mocked and sulked, but three years on and she knows he would react with the grudging respect he afforded Tsukishima as his vice-captain, although he’d still frown. Hitoka giggles again at the thought. “Besides, he’s not the only good player on the team, you’d have to work for it.” Tsukishima had told her as such, recounting the team’s achievements in quiet awe.

“ _And if we did face him at Nationals, Hitoka, who would you cheer for?”_ She can hear Shouyou’s disappointment over the line. She knows he’s still adjusting to the fast pace of college, of being separated from his closest friends, of – growing up. Growing older.

She is, too.

“He says he’s not yet sure if he wants to join the competitions,” she replies. “Maybe only for a year or two, the engineering track really is brutal once you’re an upperclassman. But if that happened, Shouyou, I’d cheer for all of you, of course. You’re all my friends,” she says, honest. “Besides, I’m not the manager anymore, so I don’t really have to be so loyal to the university.” She can’t imagine it, though, Shouyou and Tobio on one side of the court and Tsukishima on the other; her heart would surely be pounding twice as hard as it was during the Shiratorizawa match.

“ _Guess we’ll see if it happens,_ ” says Shouyou, voice light. “ _But enough about Stingyshima, how’s your day?”_ On the other side of the line, she can hear a door opening and closing before some shuffling. “ _Is that Hitoka_ ,” comes Tobio’s flat voice over Shouyou’s indignant squawking, _give the phone back, Bakageyama!_

“Hi, Tobio,” she says. “Put the phone on speaker so I can talk to you both.” He obliges, and she talks about her art history class, about the university gym, about anything and everything, and they tell her about their shared calculus class and the pains of living with each other, and she feels a lump growing in her throat at how dearly she misses them even as they make her laugh.

* * *

 

“How would you feel,” Yachi says, setting her book bag down, “If you had to face Hinata and Kageyama in a volleyball tournament?”

Kei glances at her and back to his problem set, thinking for a beat too long before he realizes she’s waiting for an answer. “I’m not sure,” he answers honestly. At her stunned face, he smirks and continues, “Well, I’m familiar with how they work, so that would be to my advantage. Hinata has never been good at reading me quickly, so that would buy me some time, but they’re perceptive too…” He trails off. Yachi is still looking at him, one eyebrow raised. He huffs. “I suppose – I’d get fired up,” he says, sounding almost hesitant.

She grins at him then, one of her signature Yachi smiles which light up her whole face, and Kei finds himself blinking and looking away. “Fired up, huh,” she says, looking contemplative. Kei thinks of that period towards the end of senior year, when the topic of college had come up. Hinata and Kageyama had been quick to talk about being scouted for a large university in Tokyo, and Tadashi recounted how he was going to live with his aunt in Sendai for college.

_“I already got into my first choice,” Kei had said when their gazes turned to him. “They offered me a scholarship, too.”_

_“That nerd school, huh,” Hinata had said. “Congratulations, Tsukishima.” Kageyama had nodded._

_“They also have a strong volleyball team, right? One of the best in the prefecture,” Yachi had offered, flushing when everyone had looked at her._

_“How do you know, Hitoka?” Kageyama asked, his gaze curious._

_Her flush had deepened. “I-I actually got accepted to the same school,” she’d confessed, decidedly not looking at Kei. She closes her eyes and pushes on despite Hinata and Kageyama’s surprised gasps. “I-I didn’t know he was applying too, and I’m not on scholarship, I just – they have a really good design program, with some of my favorite artists, and I thought–”_

_This had been news to him, at the time. He’d known she’d applied to several colleges across the country, specifically those with strong arts programs, when back in freshman year he was sure she would have stayed local._

_“It’s good that you and Kei will have each other to count on when you’re there,” Tadashi had interrupted gently, and Kei’s eyes wander to Yachi for the second time in as many minutes. She’s peering up at him now, like she’s asking –_ is it okay?

_“I suppose we will,” she’d said, and Kei had nodded._

_“Congratulations,” he’d said in turn. “It’s a good school.”_

And now here they are, at her favorite table in her favorite coffee shop, and Yachi seems torn between keeping her face blank and outright grinning at him. He kind of wants her to keep doing the latter, and almost tells her so. Instead, he says. “Taking an interest in my volleyball career again, are you?”

“Once a manager, always a manager,” she says, prim, and he thinks about those late nights with her and Kageyama and Coach Ukai around a table, reviewing opponents’ statistics and strategizing for their next match, remembers her quick brain and quiet resolve, and that almost has him smiling, too. “I’ll order, okay?” Yachi is saying. He watches her as she gets up, greets the barista like an old friend, and comes back with a vanilla latte and a slice of shortcake. She sets the latter down in front of him and smiles. “Still don’t drink coffee before six, right?”

“There’s no point, I’ll need to drink another one later anyway,” Kei huffs, before taking a small bite. “Delicious as always. Thank you, Yachi.”

She hums appreciatively. “Anything to get you out of that stuffy library,” she declares, before turning to her readings, and he takes it as a cue to return to his homework.

Kei’s mind wanders, though, as it’s often wont to do in her presence; he imagines Hinata’s boisterous laughter on the court, Kageyama sizing him up with a smirk, and before he knows it he’s asking, “How would _you_ react though, Yachi?”

Yachi blinks rapidly, and her fingers find the tips of her hair. It’s a nervous habit he noticed in high school that’s followed her to college, although her hair is longer now. “Hinata asked me the same thing,” she admits. “I told him I’d be on both your sides. I spent all of high school cheering you on, why stop now?”

 _Because_ , he wants to say, _because things have changed_. She’s no longer their manager, dutifully handing out towels and water bottles to tired players, just as he’s no longer their captain, barking out orders and doing drills, and there’s no team to run like a well-oiled machine anymore. But she’s still working across the table from him, her eyebrows furrowed, and he supposes some things stay the same.

* * *

Hitoka is used to people asking if she and Tsukishima are an item. It’s a common assumption regarding team captains and managers, she supposes, and one not entirely unfounded, even in their high school – after all, Saito and Yamamoto from track have been dating since freshman year. Once she sincerely yet firmly denied it, they either proceeded to ask if Tsukishima himself was seeing anyone, or assumed that she was dating one of the other boys (a thought that made her giggle). Shouyou and Tobio were practically her brothers, she was sure, even if she didn’t have any of her own, and Yamaguchi and Tsukishima dear friends.

_“They do that to me too,” Yamaguchi had told her once. “Girls always used to come up and ask after him, and I never knew what to tell them.”_

_“Our dear captain is popular with the ladies, it seems,” she had agreed, laughing at Tsukishima’s frowning face behind Yamaguchi._

And he _was_ , as Valentine’s Day went by he’d be increasingly disgruntled as valentines and chocolates would pile up. (He’d bring them to practice to share, because his mom and brother would never let him hear the end of it. Tobio would tease him, and Kei would shoot back that Tobio had his share of admirers, too. Hitoka and Shouyou usually wound up eating most of the chocolates, but knew to leave the strawberry-flavored ones). She’d join in on the ribbing too, quietly, a teasing remark here and there, offering to set him up with one of her classmates, but he’d barely acknowledge it with a half-smile and a nod.

She wouldn’t have thought it would happen in college, though, and she blinks at Mitsumi, rather stupefied. “T-Tsukishima?”

“If that’s the name of the guy you’re always studying with, then yeah,” Mitsumi says, her smile shy. She’s in three of Hitoka’s classes, they share a love for cute erasers, and she’s probably Hitoka’s closest friend in the program, all things considered. “How long have you been together?”

Hitoka feels her cheeks color before the practiced response returns to her. “We’re not – we’re not an item,” she says. “He’s a good friend. We were on the volleyball team in high school together.” It still feels odd, saying _we were on the volleyball team_ like some bygone era, not three years of their lives they spent tallying kills and practicing serves together, not three years that she’d spent building up a friendship with him, little by little.

Mitsumi’s gaze brightens. “Oh! Sorry, I just thought…You wouldn’t happen to know if he’s…otherwise attached, is he?”

“If he is, he hasn’t mentioned it to me,” Hitoka replies. “But you can try asking him! …N-not that my permission is needed for that sort of thing… and don’t be put off, he might be surly at first but he’s nice actually!”

“Thanks, Yachi,” Mitsumi replies, sincerely. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

* * *

 

 _“And you turned her down?”_ Tadashi says, his disbelief evident on the screen.

“She was nice,” Kei says mildly. “But I don’t have the time for that right now, between schoolwork and volleyball.”

“ _That’s what you said in high school, too_ ,” Tadashi responds, exasperated. “ _At some point you just gotta take that leap of faith too, Kei_.”

“Hmm,” Kei hums, before catching. “Wait, what do you mean _too_?”

Tadashi turns a brilliant scarlet. “I-I uh, t-there’s someone,” he stutters, shy. “I-I just asked him out recently, and it’s kinda new, but–” he smiles, fond. “It’s good. We’re good.”

“I’m glad.” It’s the truth, and Kei only wants the messy drama of high school to be put behind the two of them.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Tadashi says, sincere. “ _But enough about that. Are you – are you getting by okay? I don’t mean relationships necessarily, just – in life, or something.”_

“I’m really fine,” Kei says. “I got a high grade in my last chemistry exam.”

“ _Of course you did. Are you like, eating okay? I know you can’t cook, don’t even start.”_

“I can cook,” he says, stubborn.

“ _Like three things_ ,” says Tadashi, mild.

Kei makes an affronted noise. “I’m really fine,” he says again. “I’m learning to cook more, and Yachi-san comes over every so often, with food.”

“Yachi-san,” Tadashi repeats pointedly.

He feels the flush that he’s wont to associate with hearing Yachi’s name on his cheeks, and, irritated, scrubs at his face as if to make it disappear. “She cooks too much food.”

“ _She’s always been the kind of person who cares about others, I think_ ,” Tadashi says. “ _She’s doing okay, too – we FaceTimed the other day.”_

“That’s good.”

 _“It’s nice that you guys are such good friends now, you know – she was really terrified of you back in high school, at first.”_ Tadashi is smiling.

“She was terrified of all of us,” Kei replies, defensive.

 _“Yes, but she pretty much instantly became friends with Hinata and Kageyama, and the senpai doted on her_ ,” Tadashi says matter-of-factly. “ _She really didn’t know how to talk to you_.”

“Not like I knew how to talk to her,” he mumbles. It’s true. What was he supposed to do with a slip of a girl who could hardly introduce herself without stuttering or trembling? But years of work and training had broken down some of his walls and built some steel into her spine, and somehow, through study sessions and late-night training, they’d fallen into an easy partnership that he would be loath to give up now.

Tadashi laughs and changes the topic. They talk for a good hour or so, and Kei turns Yachi’s kind smile over in his head all the while.

* * *

Hitoka pokes her head into the gym, closing her eyes at the familiar smell of sweat and topical painkillers, and the sound of volleyballs hitting forearms and shoes pattering across hardwood. She locates Tsukishima instantly, with his height and shock of blond hair, sitting on one of the benches with his earphones in his ears, and she slips in to walk up to him. “Tsukishima-kun,” she calls softly, frowning when he doesn’t acknowledge her. “Tsukishima-kun!” she says, louder and stepping into his line of vision, and he looks up, as do several of his teammates.

Embarrassed, she flushes, covering her mouth with her hands and moving to turn away, but Tsukishima is on his feet before she can. “What is it, Yachi-san?”

She relaxes. “You left your textbook and notes at my place yesterday,” she says, taking them out of her bag. “I remembered you said that you were going to the library to study after practice, and I was passing by because I had to meet someone from the P.E. department, so…”

Tsukishima blinks several times in quick succession, his face moving to express the barest hint of surprise before it shutters. She isn’t sure she would have even noticed if she hadn’t known him for years. “Thank you, Yachi-san,” he says, soft. She doesn’t look at the sheen of sweat on his face or the glint of his eyes. “You didn’t have to.”

“I’m not done!” Hitoka screeches, a bit too loudly. “I, uh – I made too much stir fry this afternoon, and there’s no point in reheating cold stir fry, and you mentioned that you skip dinner when you have exams coming up, so–” Heat rises to her cheeks when she realizes she’s rambling, although he has never begrudged her that, so she reaches in her backpack and takes out the paper bag. “I brought you some,” she says, quieter.

And then Tsukishima _smiles_ – it’s the barest hint of one, the edges of his lips turning up, a hint of teeth showing, and – she’s seen his mocking smirks and his bland half-smiles that don’t reach his eyes, and he’s pleasant enough when they’re together, but she has never had a sincere smile directed at her alone. It’s all she can do to blink at him, thinking of her classmates’ words – _Tsukishima Kei, handsome_ – and soon enough he seems to catch himself, his mouth moving to form something like _Wow, thank you, Yachi-san_ , his tone appreciative.

“Enjoy the rest of your practice,” she says, soft this time, before hightailing it out of the gym.

* * *

 

“Your girlfriend’s too cute for you,” one of the upperclassmen laugh once Yachi’s blonde head disappears from the gym door.

Kei’s insides do something funny at that, something thump-thumpy and twisty, and it’s all he can do to turn away. “She’s not my girlfriend,” he says, trying to sound as apathetic as he was. “She was the manager of our high school team. She’s my friend.” And it’s _true_ , isn’t it, even though this is the first time he’s ever said it out loud – Yachi was his teammate, with her meticulous notes and bright posters and encouraging actions, but now, with her home-cooked meals and burnt cookies and stationery and perpetual sunny smile, she’s his friend too.   

“No wonder you guys made Nationals, I’d be motivated to work my hardest too if we had a cute lady manager like that!” someone else chimes in. “ _Man_ , bringing me my homework _and_ dinner? Tsukishima, let me know if she’s looking for someone, okay?”

“Not like she’d go out with someone like you,” he mutters, petulant, until he remembers that Yachi, sweet, kind, _good_ Yachi, would probably give him the time of day.

The paper bag in his hands is still warm, and when he eats it in the library going through his physics textbook, he imagines Yachi pattering about her small kitchen, chopping vegetables and humming offkey, and he closes his eyes until the image disappears.

* * *

 

Her heart’s pounding, her fingers trembling as she wrenches open the door. Tsukishima is sitting up on the bed, fingers thumbing through a novel casually, like he hadn’t just –

He looks up when he hears her come in, his eyes widening. “Yachi-san,” he says. “Good afternoon.”

“ _Good afternoon_?” she near-screeches, her hands on her hips. _Inhale, exhale_ , she tells herself, _It’s Tsukishima, you’ve known him for years – you can get mad at him_. “That’s all you have to say?”

“It was a minor concussion, Yachi-san, nothing to get worked up about…”

“Emphasis on _concussion_ ,” Hitoka says, taking the seat next to the bed.  

“There wasn’t anything you could’ve done,” Tsukishima murmurs. “It was an accident.”

“I still would have liked to know.” Hitoka bites her lip. “We’re friends, remember? We’re supposed to look out for each other. Not find out that the other’s in the infirmary by a chance encounter with a teammate in the _plaza_.” She realizes that her voice has risen in pitch considerably, and she crosses her arms, attempting to firm up her stance, but it’s not so effective when the all-too-familiar thoughts return – _that you’re only still his friend because it’s convenient for him to have someone he knows_.

Tsukishima’s eyebrows knit together, as if noticing her deflated stance. “I’m sorry for not telling you. I-I didn’t want to make you – _worried_ ,” he says, stumbling over the words. It’s a stark contrast to how she’s used to seeing him, silver-tongued and quick-witted, always with a retort at the ready.

Her eyebrows rise almost of their own volition. “ _Worried_?” she exclaims, her hands wringing together. “You know I would’ve been worried either way.” She _knows_ he knows this. It’s who she was in high school and who she is now; the one asking if Shouyou had studied enough for his math test, if Yamaguchi was drinking enough water, if Kageyama and Tsukishima were fighting again, if Tanaka and Nishinoya needed someone to toss balls for them.

He looks away from her. “That’s true.” There’s a too-long moment where they do nothing, his hands fiddling with the hospital blanket. Illuminated by the fading sunlight, his face looks softer and warmer, the gold in his eyes shining brighter, and Hitoka feels the familiar _ka-thump_ in her chest.

“I’m glad you’re all right,” she says finally, quiet in the emptiness of the infirmary room. “When are you going to be allowed to go home?”

He ducks his head, an oddly endearing gesture. “It should be soon,” he says. “Any minute now.”

Hitoka pulls her knees up to her chest. “In that case,” she says, putting on her brightest smile, “You wouldn’t _believe_ what happened today…”

* * *

 

Kei’s apartment has crappy heating, so finals week has him over at Yachi’s. It’s basically a shoebox and the two of them can barely move around comfortably, but it’s warm and tastefully furnished in the way he’d expect Yachi’s place to be, all pastel colors and potted plants and glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling.  

Yachi has her final plate for her introductory drafting class due the next day so she’s more frazzled than he’s ever seen her, alternating between staring blankly at her laptop screen, panicking at her notes, and ingesting cup after cup of caffeine. He has two exams and a big speech for his communications class left, and he settles on drawing up an outline for the latter as he watches her work.

Occasionally, she turns to him, asks if he wants anything, and she’ll acquiesce to his insistence that he has everything he needs. Memories rise up, unbidden, of the aftermath of the Shiratorizawa match their freshman year, of her offering him ice for his hand and asking if he needed help with homework. He knows that focusing on other people helps with her nerves, helps her channel her nervous energy into more productive outlets. It had worked wonders in high school, when they’d had to work together to rein in the team, and although he’d never admit it out loud, he’s grateful that she still chooses to let it out on him, that after _everything_ he has her to fall back onto.

(Some part of him wonders when she’ll leave him, find preppier, more extraverted people in her program to invite over, but he tamps it down. That’s a problem for another day.)

His exams end a whole two days before hers do, and she asks him why he doesn’t go on home ahead of her. He gives her an odd look and a polished eyebrow raise, and asks if she needs help with her flashcards.

“You’ve gone soft, Tsukishima Kei _,_ ” she tells him fondly, getting up to brew more tea for the two of them. He snorts but doesn’t look up. He knows it’s true.

* * *

 

The afternoon after her last exam, they take the train back home together. Hitoka falls asleep on him, it’s so cold and she’s so tired, and doesn’t say anything when she wakes up, bleary, to find that he’s wrapped his arm around her so she can burrow into his side even more.

Tsukishima’s brother, Akiteru, is there when they arrive at the train station, and he greets Hitoka first with a genial smile before pulling his brother into a one-armed hug. Hitoka chuckles at the look of disdain Tsukishima sends her from his brother’s shoulder, before –

“Hi-to-ka!”

“Shouyou!” she squeals as wiry arms wrap around her torso and she feels her feet being lifted off the ground.

“Oi, Shrimpy, put her down,” Tsukishima says, voice droll, but she sees the concern in his face when he turns it on her. _You all right?_ he’s asking, and she actually laughs.

“It’s fine, Tsukishima-kun,” she says, then shrieks with laughter when Shouyou whirls her around before setting her down. “Shouyou!” she exclaims upon seeing his face. It’s nearly the same as she remembers, same bright hair and equally blinding smile. But there are angles to his face that weren’t there before and he’s gotten taller, she notes with some fondness, before she hugs him and tells him so, her smile widening when he puffs out his chest with pride. “It’s good to see you.”

“And not me?” Tobio’s deep baritone comes from behind Shouyou, and he all but shoves the latter aside despite Shouyou’s incessant squawking to give Hitoka a warm hug that she reciprocates. He’s growing up, too, floppy haircut replaced with something trendier, his shoulders wider and his gaze softer.

“Even better,” Hitoka jokes into his chest, laughing at the affronted noise Shouyou makes. “Hi, Tobio.”

“That athletic scholarship treating you well, King?” Tsukishima says, mocking. He doesn’t hug Shouyou or Tobio – his friendships with them never had the same physicality Hitoka’s do – but his tone isn’t laced with the underlying vitriol it had when they were freshmen who hadn’t undergone all those grueling years together.

“As well as that nerd school’s treating you, I hope,” Tobio replies sardonically. “And Hitoka,” he adds, rather lamely, and she feels another rush of fondness.

Shouyou huffs, frustrated at being ignored. “We’re going to take Hitoka now and have some cake at that café she likes, and we have to make sure you haven’t corrupted her, Ba-ka-shi-ma.”

“Me? Corrupt anyone?” Tsukishima says, his face the picture of innocence.

Hitoka giggles again, warm with happiness at seeing her friends, and impulsively moves to his side and hugs him. “Thanks, Tsukishima-kun,” she says, pulling away. “Yamaguchi-kun is arriving tomorrow too, right? Let’s have dinner and drinks together, the five of us,” she says, turning to Shouyou and Tobio, who both frown.

She stares at them pointedly, and they both groan. “Anything for Hitoka-chan,” Shouyou says, sighing exaggeratedly.

“I’ll text you,” Tsukishima says softly to her, before turning and joining his brother.

She’s left looking up and blinking for a few seconds too long.

* * *

 

_i was serious about the drinks and dinner!!!_

Kei bites back a smile as he imagines Hitoka in her bedroom, typing out the text message. Her hair would be in the messy bun she’s fond of when relaxing, and her feet in long warm socks. _I don’t doubt it_ , he texts back, returning to the book he’s reading.

“Who you textin’?” Akiteru is suddenly in front of him, his smirk wide.

Tsukishima kicks him lightly. “None of your business,” he starts to say, but Akiteru has already peered at the phone on the table.

“Yachi Hitoka, eh,” he says. “Nice girl. Way too nice for you, but – my baby brother’s growing up!”

“Fuck off,” says Kei, face burning. See if he ever texts in the living room again. “She’s a friend.”

His brother gives a noncommittal hum as he disappears into the kitchen, and Kei is left to blink at Yachi’s newest message. _don't try to murder hinata and kageyama again_ , his screen tells him.

 _Murder is premeditated_. _I am not accountable for any accidents that occur because of their stupidity_.

 _ఠ_ ___ _ఠ_

 _No promises. They haven’t changed a bit_.

She’d laugh at that, he thinks, and is probably thinking up a reply defending them at the moment, and for a sudden, brief flash of time he _longs_ to see her face as she types it out. He sighs. Their interactions had always been so clearly delineated – two people in the same year, then a member and their manager, then captain and manager.

But now – friends? Something more?

Those are thoughts for another day. Instead, he types – _I’m picking up Yamaguchi at the train station tomorrow. Would you like to come?_

**Author's Note:**

> ok but imagine: capt tsukki and vice capt kags while frazzled manager yacchan tries to stop them from murdering each other. stay strong yacchan


End file.
